Chapter 30 #2
“You’re much more qualified than I am. A-and I’ve run out of ideas. I’ve started this dress so many times already. I can’t start again.”
Narcissa’s wedding dress was the biggest project of my life—nothing would compare to it. But I had no more sketches, no more inspiration. Lately, I hadn’t even had the urge to pick up a needle.
“I’m all booked up,” Jeraldine said with a shrug.
I deflated.
“Usually when I’m stuck, I look back on my oldest work. It takes me back to a time when I was full of ideas and excitement, even if the end products never turned out as I wished,” Jeraldine said with a kind smile. “Try it. Maybe it’ll help.”
***
WHEN I RETURNED TO the boarding house in the late afternoon, I saw to my surprise that Maddox was standing at my door, a large covered basket in his hand. He was dressed surprisingly neatly today, though the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows, exposing his toned forearms.
“Hello,” I said awkwardly. My heart beat a little faster, though I tried to ignore it. My gaze flicked down to his hand gripping the basket handle. A purplish red bruise had formed on his knuckles.
“Hello,” Maddox said with a smile. “Feeling better?”
“As well as I can, given the circumstances.” I went to unlock the door and entered the dimming room, slinging my satchel down on the bedside table.
A small meow sounded from the doorway.
I turned around. The covered basket in Maddox’s hand was squirming. “Have you brought—?”
Maddox drew away the cloth, revealing his three kittens I’d already forgotten the names of. “Emotional support,” he said. He set the basket down and the cats hopped out to explore the room. Then, he took out a dented paper box. “And pastries.”
I made a face. “I’m not eating cat butt pastries.
” I collapsed to the floor, leaning my back against the bed frame.
I was about to say that cats could hardly be counted as emotional support, until one of them climbed onto my lap and curled into a little gray ball, the small weight of her surprisingly comforting.
Maddox joined me on the floor, stuffing a cream-filled puff pastry into his mouth, setting the crushed box in the space between us. A caramel drizzled pastry looked particularly tempting. I succumbed and took a bite, the sweet and salty caramel syrup coating my tongue. I sighed in appreciation.
“Where did you go today?” Maddox mumbled through his mouthful of pastry.
I didn’t hesitate to tell him everything—from Edmund’s magazine to my visit with Jeraldine and the advice she gave me.
“Edmund de Clare.” He scoffed and shook his head. “I didn’t think that man could get worse.” He went for another pastry. “So, you’ve run out of ideas?”
“Do you think Narcissa would be mad at me if I quit?”
“Perhaps. There aren’t many people who can whip up a perfect royal wedding dress in four months,” Maddox said. “What Jeraldine said about looking at past work...are you going to try that?”
I heaved a heavy sigh. “Is there a point?”
“I thought you wanted this. More than anything.”
I looked to the floor, surprised by the tears brimming in my eyes. It seemed that I was always on the verge of tears around him lately. “I did. But...I don’t know anymore. I used to think that if I just worked hard enough, all my dreams would come true.”
As a child, I’d always felt like I had something to prove, burning with ideas and a desire to be more than I was told I could be.
When I’d first come aboveground, I’d gotten so carried away with assignments and prestige that I’d forgotten why I started sewing in the first place.
And now, my passion and curiosity for my craft were dwindling slowly with every passing day.
“Whatever you choose, I’m sure you’ll make the most of it.”
I could tell Maddox wanted to say more, but he held himself back. I was grateful for this. I didn’t want solutions right now, only a companion who would commiserate with me. Or, more ideally, distract me.
Maddox took my silence to mean just that. “So I might get kicked out of the Royal Guard if Edmund reports me,” he said.
I laughed. “We weren’t thinking last night, were we? If I’d known I wouldn’t have—”
He waved a hand. “Nothing too bad will happen to me, either way. I talked to my father about my pursuit of being a novelist.”
“Really? What did he say?”
“He was surprised, but not unhappy,” Maddox said. “I’m almost finished with my manuscript.”
“Will I get to hear about this enigmatic novel soon?” I asked.
“Soon,” he said vaguely.
Maddox stayed and chatted the rest of the afternoon until we finished the pastries and the kittens began nodding off.
“Hey. Thanks for coming and bringing the cats,” I said when he was halfway out the door.
“Thank you for last night, too. Thanks for...a lot of things.” I felt a blush rise to my cheeks at how stilted the words came out.
I half expected Maddox to make fun of me for my poor attempt at vulnerability, but he only smiled and shrugged.
“You’re welcome.” He lifted the basket. “If you ever need more emotional support, come by the abbey some time.”
I watched him disappear down the dim hall of the boarding house, feeling oddly more energized despite the hour growing late. Perhaps it was the sugar in the pastries. Perhaps it was something else rushing through my veins.
I turned back inside and grabbed my satchel.
With a deep breath, I braced myself and flipped it upside down.
A cascade of items spilled onto my creaky mattress at once: sketchbooks of dress designs; portfolios of pattern pieces; tins of chalk and pins; tangled balls of measuring tape; half-finished garments and fully finished garments; loose packets of trim, which unraveled as they fell.
I was sure I would get noise complaints from the downstairs occupants the next morning.
The mountain of things grew so high that some tumbled to the floor, the peak of it almost touching the ceiling.
I had to climb onto a rickety stool to release the last wads of fabric from the satchel.
At last, it tumbled out.
The soft blue dress I made out of my bedsheet.
The first dress I ever sewed. I shook out the garment, running my hands over the worn cotton, soft to the touch.
The gathers on the skirt were horrendously uneven.
The bodice was limp, laced up with lopsided loops, but I still remembered the giddiness coursing through my body as I made it, how it felt watching a piece of fabric transform into a garment.
I remembered my pride when I put it on. The gratitude I felt when Grandma taught me how to sew properly, and how she had watched over me when I spent the following night redoing each seam, finishing them so the raw edges were properly enclosed.
I sat down beside the pile, reaching for another garment.
For the rest of the night, I pored over every single piece I had ever made.